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There is a legend about the monastery of Montebello and Gino Girolomoni, mysterious and seductive, which adheres perfectly to the mystical figure of the man I had the privilege of knowing. It is said that when Gino saw the monastery for the first time, abandoned and invaded by brambles, he was struck by a vision: from the woods adjacent to the building a chariot appeared to him, a chariot of fire, an image that recalls biblical symbols, and he , a deeply religious man, perceived it as an omen, a divine message to be believed: he had to bring the ancient monastery back to life.
It must not have been easy for him, of very modest peasant origins, without a mother and with a sick father to face his young life, you could still see it in his adult eyes, but he had always been a determined as well as intelligent guy, he felt that the world he was changing and he continually asked himself how and in what way and what he could have done to keep it as intact as possible, otherwise those changes would have forever distorted him and his beloved places, the countryside and that life where life had always had a sense. "Nature was shouting" he once told me "and I was the only one who listened to her" And that's how it began: with the young people of Isola del Piano to form an agricultural commune, working the land and the stables with real cows. "I remember above all the cold of winter" one of them, Peppino Paolini, now mayor of Isola del Piano, told me one day, showing me some black and white photos: him and Gino with a meter of snow and the shovel in hand next to the monastery. Yes, it must not have been easy, and in fact the commune failed and everyone took their own path but Gino remained, steadfast in his plan with Tullia, his wife, who remained by his side and gave him three children, and therefore the monastery , the inn, the pasta factory, the cooperative and its message of pesticide-free agriculture and consequently healthier food, all brought together in a single symbol: Alce Nero. But who was Alce Nero and what did he mean for Girolomoni? I believe it meant many things at once: the Sioux warrior who resists, resists Western invasion, resists in the name of nature, the warrior who has visions from an early age and tells them, the warrior who converts to Catholicism while maintaining his own traditions finally, a warrior who tells (Black Elk speaks) so that his cry is not lost in the wind. Gino Girolomoni was Alce Nero.
Self-taught, he studied and read continuously. At the time he became an essayist, collaborated with various newspapers, wrote books and founded a magazine "Mediterranean", in addition to presiding over the Alce Nero foundation, he established important relationships with intellectuals and politicians of his time: Sergio Quinzio, Guido Ceronetti, Paolo Volponi, Marina Salamon, Massimo Cacciari, Moni Ovadia, Andrea De Carlo. These are just some of the names who were his guests at the Monastery and spoke at one of his many conferences which attracted many beautiful minds from all over the country and all over Europe.
In the meantime, the monastery, restored over the course of forty years, was completed with the recovery of the small church, and today it is still possible to admire it inside as it houses the museum of peasant civilisation. Gino had finally realized his vision: an extraordinary work if only you could see the grandeur of the building that I invite you to visit, above the hills of Isola del Piano, on the Cesane plateau overlooking the sea and the road that leads to Urbino, which is only about ten kilometers away, along a beautiful and open road, because it is high and panoramic, surrounded by coniferous and oak woods, which fortunately belong to state property.
Here is an excerpt from his speech in July 1973 at a conference in Isola del Piano, in which many intellectuals participated. Hear what happened once upon a time, not very long ago, in the Marche countryside.
” these pages were written by someone who overturned the earth with the plow dragged by oxen and who today does it with the tractor, by someone who cut down the hay with the scythe and who today does it with the engine. So someone who knows the difference well. At the end of the fifties the population of the countryside of Isola del Piano still lived as in past centuries, the only difference were the wheat threshers and the happy consequence that derived from it: instead of acorn bread as at the beginning of the century, they ate acorn bread grain. There wasn't a television yet, nor a refrigerator or washing machine. There was no car or tractor. And there was no plastic yet, the containers for the cellar were made of wood and those for the livestock were made of iron. There were no roads through which these things could arrive.
Every now and then only poor Secondino came to the houses, with his biting mare, to sell the soap and preserves and take the eggs in exchange, and Cimicia came to buy the hare and rabbit skins. Once a year Baffone came to sell combs, razors, accordions and every time he came I wanted to play it while my grandfather instead made me the cane whistle. Then, once a year, he passed the knife grinder to sharpen and the crowbar to fasten the shards that had broken. In March Din Din came with the still to make grappa with the pomace and slept in the stable.
The lack of main roads caused many difficulties, for example the midwife or the doctor had to be picked up with a sled or cart pulled by oxen, on Sundays you could see people coming down the hills with their shoes in hand to be changed before entering the village. There was no running water and no electricity and lighting was obtained with oil lamps and centilena.
Also in the XNUMXs, farmers said that if they had had water, electricity and roads then their condition would have been more bearable. Since the end of the fifties the road arrived, then the electricity and then the water but the people of the fields left anyway. Why'? Because people in those years were struck by a serious disease, that of asking themselves questions (before, only the rich asked questions, while the people worked). Why do I have to give half to the owner? why can't I let my children study? Why can't I have a comfortable and clean home? Why when I go to the city in the offices they look at me with contempt and don't even listen to me? After asking themselves these questions they went along the Flaminia between Fossombrone and Fano and along the Adriatica to paint synthetic wood furniture or to work as labourers. But many farmers who owned the fields they worked on also left and so what did it lead to the escape from the earth? The children who did some school in the city, the wife who has seen the city a few times was seduced by it and convinced her husband to make a house in the monotonous and endless suburbs. And so one leaves his land, his traditions, his friends, deluding himself that a greater profit and the services of the nearby city are enough to compensate for what he loses, leaving the fields that belonged to his father and his father's father and where everyone knew who he was and how. his name was while where he goes no one knows who he is. With the road came the motorcycle and then the washing machine and the refrigerator, then the tractor, the petrol scythe, and so many oak trees were cut down while previously it was difficult to cut them down and they were left there.
Today the quantity of agricultural production has increased but not the quality, due to artificial fertilizers and herbicides. Even the quality of health has suffered considerable damage, there is no longer a farmer who doesn't have an illness for which, if his son doesn't grow up soon, he can no longer manage the field. The dust from the fertilizers and herbicides that he breathed in was very harmful but the health of the land is also destined to collapse: two years ago in Holland I stopped to see a wheat field and I touched the earth and the small and sick, the earth no longer seemed like earth but a synthetic product. And what about our fruit plants that no longer bear fruit if they are not repeatedly treated? By now the ecological balance of nature has been broken and only nature, in a way perhaps disastrous for men, can restore it.
Previously the fuel came from the field near the house and was hay and grass, now it comes from Saudi Arabia. At home the women made pasta and bread, the oven was wood-fired and wood cost nothing. Not only that, the milling of the wheat also produced food for the pigs, bran. Before there were no cars there was also time to make bread, now that there are tractors and cars they no longer have that time. My speech doesn't want to support anything, I'm saying that something isn't working: now that there are tractors with all the accessories in the countryside, farmers work the same number of hours as when there were cows. And he still has as much money in his pocket as there was before. So? And then there is something that doesn't work, that is, nothing works!
A great civilization has practically disappeared: the wooden ploughs, the looms for weaving wool, the worked stones for hanging silkworms, the gigantic plane for making vats and barrels, every family produced hemp and wool and silk and he worked them, from the wood of the forest he made a chair, a barrel and a container. Each family was self-sufficient.
The stone mill belongs to the last stonemason left in Isola, the guns for the doors belong to the only blacksmith, the chairs and the shoes and the baskets and baskets, once my father's generation has passed he won't know them do no one anymore.
If it is true that there is no going back, it is also true that there is chaos ahead. If people know how to do these things too, they will be able to survive. I hope so and I try to learn how to do them. ”
“On the trail of our fathers” – Year 2000, Alce Nero Foundation
He wrote all this in 1973
His words, truly prophetic, perhaps would have deserved greater reflection. If we then think about the crisis of our times, about our factories closing and the advent of China with further destruction of nature which rebels creating ecological disasters on a scale never seen before, perhaps I think that the escape from the earth was a big mistake, precisely as Gino said.
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There is a legend about the Monastery of Montebello and Gino Girolomoni. This legend is mysterious, seductive and perfectly reflects the mystical figure of the man I had the privilege of meeting. Gino had a vision when he saw for the first time the monastery, which had been abandoned and invaded by the trenches. A chariot, in particular a fire chariot, appeared in the woods adjacent to the building. This is an image that recalls biblical symbols, and because of his profound religiousness of him, he interpreted these symbols as a divination, a divine message indeed, to which he relied that the monastery had to be brought back to life.
His youth was certainly not easy, he had modest and peasant origins, with no mother and with a sick father. You could read it in his adult eyes. However he had always been a resolute although smart type, he felt that the world was changing and he was constantly wondering how it would change and what he could do to keep it as intact as possible. He believed that those changes could overturn him and his beloved places, the country-sides and everyday life where everything was meaningful.
“Nature was shouting,” he told me, “and I was the only one to listen to her.”
That was how he formed with the young people of Isola del Piano a community farm, working the land and managing stables with real cows.
“I remember especially the cold of winter” one of them said to me – it was Peppino Paolini, recently mayor of the Island of the Piano – showing me some black and white pictures: Peppino and Gino under a meter of snow and the shovels next to the monastery.
It was certainly not easy, and in fact the community failed and everyone left, but Gino remained. He remained deeply convinced of his own project, together with Tullia (his wife), who remained next to him and gave him three children, and then the monastery, the inn, the pasta factory, the co-operative and the message of a pesticide -free agriculture and consequently of healthier food. All gathered in a single symbol: Black Elk.
What was Alce Nero and what represented for Mr. Girolomoni? I believe that it meant several things altogether. A Sioux warrior who resists, resists to Western civilization, resists in the name of nature; a warrior who has a vision and tells everyone about it, the warrior who converts to Catholicism while maintaining his traditions di lui, the warrior who tells stories (ie Alce Nero speaks) so that his screams di lui do not disappear in the wind. Gino Girolomoni was Alce Nero.
Self-taught, studied and read continuously. At the time he became an essayist, collaborated with several newspapers, wrote books and established a magazine “Mediterraneo”, in addition to chairing the Alce Nero foundation, kept relations with intellectuals and politicians of his time: Sergio Quinzio, Guido Ceronetti, Paolo Volponi , Marina Salamon, Massimo Cacciari, Moni Ovadia, Andrea De Carlo. These are just some of the names that were his guests at the Monastery and have spoken in one of his many conferences that attracted many beautiful minds from all over the country and from Europe.
Meanwhile, the monastery was restored over forty years, and it is finally completed with the restoration of the church. Still today it is possible to admire it since it hosts the museum of peasant civilization. Gino had finally turned his vision into reality: an extraordinary work, if you could only see the greatness of the building that I invite you to visit, upon the hills of Isola del Piano, on the plateau of the Cesane overlooking the sea and the road leading to Urbino (which is only a dozen kilometers away), through a beautiful and open road, because it is high and panoramic, surrounded by coniferous woods and oaks, which fortunately belong to the public property.
Below is an excerpt of a speech of July 1973 at a conference at Isola del Piano, to which many intellectuals participated. Here's what was happening not so long ago in the countryside of the Marche region:
“These pages were written by one who overthrew the ground with the plow dragged by the oxen and that it does today with the tractor, one who dropped the hay with the sickle and that it does today with the engine. One who therefore knows the difference too well. At the end of the 1950s, the population of the countryside of Isola di Piano still lived as in the past centuries, the only difference was wheat threshing machines and the delightful consequence that resulted from it: instead of the acorn bread at the beginning of the century, now you had wheat bread. Television was not even there and neither the fridge nor the washing machine. There was no car or tractor. And there was still no plastic, the basin containers were made of wood and those for iron cattle. There were no roads through which these things could come.
Only the “poor” Mr. Secondino was visiting home, with his biting mare, selling soap and preserves and taking the eggs in return, and Cimicia came to buy hare and rabbit skins. Once a year, Baffone came to sell the combs, shavings, and orgies, and whenever it came to me, I wanted to play it while my grandfather used to do the cane bush. Then, once a year, the knife grinder would visit home and then the person who could bring the broken crocks. In March Din Din came with the almond to produce Grappa from the marc and slept in the stable.
The lack of main roads caused many difficulties, for example, you had to fetch the midwife or doctor by sled or by cart carried by oxen, on Sunday you could see people coming down from the hills with the shoes in their hands they would wear before entering the village. There was no running water and there was no electrical power and the lighting was obtained with the oil lamps and the centilene.
Still in the 1950's, peasants said that if they had had the water, the light and the road then their condition would be more bearable. Since the end of the 1950s the road has come, then the light and then the water but the people of the fields have gone anyway. Why? Because people in those years were affected by a serious illness, the illness of asking questions (only rich people had questions before, while peasants had no time for questions since they had to work) Why should I give half of my earnings to the land owner ? Why can't my children study? Why can't I have a comfortable and clean home? Why then, when I go to town in the offices, I am looked at in scorn and nobody would ever listen to me either? After asking themselves these questions, they went along the Flaminia road between Fossombrone and Fano and along the Adriatic road to paint synthetic wood furniture or to become manual laborers.
But also many peasants who owned the fields they worked had gone and so what is that caused the escape from the countryside then? The children who have been in school somehow, the wife who has sometimes seen the city has been seduced and has convinced her husband to get home in the monotonous and exterminate suburbs. And so you leave your land, your traditions, your friends thinking that you need a better income and services of the nearby city to compensate what you lose from leaving the fields that were your father's and your father's dad and where everyone knows who you are and what's your name wherever you go, while nobody knows who you are. By the way the motorcycle came and then the washing machine and refrigerator, then the tractor, the gasoline motoffs, and so many oaks were cut down before it was hard to cut them and left them there.
Today, the amount of agricultural production has increased but not the quality due to artificial fertilizers and herbicides. Health quality has also suffered greatly, there is no more than a farmer who has no illness for which, if he does not grow up soon, he can no longer carry the field. The fertilizer and herbicide dust that has been breathing has been very damaging, but the health of the earth is going to collapse: two years ago in Holland I stopped to see a field of grain and touched the ground and the small, sick ear, the earth seemed no longer earth but a synthetic product. And what about our fruit plants that no longer fruit unless they are repeatedly treated? By now the ecological balance of nature has broken and only nature, in a disastrous way for men, can restore it.
The fuel used to come from the field near home and it was hay and grass, now it comes from Saudi Arabia. At home the women made pasta and bread, the oven was fueled by wood and the wood did not cost anything. You could have bran for feeding pigs from the grinding of wheat. Before the machines were there, there was also time to make bread, now that there are tractors and the car that time no longer has them. My speech does not want to say anything, I only say that something is not working properly: now that there are tractors in the countryside with all the accessories, the peasants work the same number of hours as if there were cows. And the money in their pockets remains as much as before. And so? Then there is something that is not working, or maybe, nothing actually works!
A great civilization has practically disappeared: wooden plows, woolen weaving looms, stones worked to wrap silkworms, the giant plateau to make quails and barrels, each family produced hemp and wool and silk, and he worked, from the wood of the wood a chair , a drum and a bowl were made. Each family was self-sufficient.
The stone mill is the last stone-stone left in Isola, the guns for the gates are the only blacksmith, the chairs and the shoes, and the baskets and the baskets, my father's generation is gone, will not know how to do any more .
If it is true that back is not back it is also true that there is chaos ahead. If people know how to do these things, they will survive. I wish him and I try to learn how to do it.”
“On the footsteps of our fathers”, Published by Foundation Alce Nero, 2000.
This was written in 1973.
His words are prophetic: maybe they deserved much more reflection. If we think about our times decay, about closing factories and the development of China helping destruction of nature, that reacts with never seen before ecological disasters, I believe that perhaps the escape from the countryside was a big mistake, just like Gino used to say .
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